


April 2006, a Rooftop in Houston

by bramblePatch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblePatch/pseuds/bramblePatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it gets too much for him, when the isolation that Dave needs begins to press in on the elder brother and crush the composure from his frame, he gets out, away from the apartment, and thumbs desperately through the short list of names in his phone - a list longer than Dave's chumroll, but not by much - until the pad of his thumb comes to hover over one name in particular.</p><p>Rating for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	April 2006, a Rooftop in Houston

There are days when he's really not sure he can keep this up.

Dave doesn't notice, of course, or if he notices, he chalks it up to some new permutation of irony. Maybe that will prove to be the biggest boon Strider has given his brother, in the days that come: Dave never wastes time trying to second guess anyone's motives. Either someone is acting sincerely, in which case they are beneath his notice, or they are acting out of irony, in which case Dave knows better than to reveal that he doesn't get the joke. Strider suspects that by this point, the kid might be applying that logic not only to people but to the world at large. He'll need to, if he's to have any chance of succeeding.

When it gets too much for him, when the isolation that Dave needs begins to press in on the elder brother and crush the composure from his frame, he gets out, away from the apartment, and thumbs desperately through the short list of names in his phone - a list longer than Dave's chumroll, but not by much - until the pad of his thumb comes to hover over one name in particular.

Sometimes he just looks at it, then shoves the phone back in his pocket and goes home. Sometimes, like today, he presses down, makes the connection.

"Dr. Lalonde speaking." Her voice, almost tinny through the phone, is slightly slurred, and he doesn't want to venture a guess as to whether it is the too-early hour or the drink that she always seems to have at hand.

"Lalonde. Hey. It's Strider."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" she asks, her voice not quite managing the sharpness to be described as a demand.

He looks up at the pinkening eastern sky, shrugs, although of course the gesture means nothing over the phone. "Fivish, I guess."

"Which makes it sixish here, but still rather early for social calls," she replies. "Is something wrong?"

Strider pauses for a long moment, trying to think of what isn't wrong with their existence. "Not more than usual," he admits.

There's a soft sound from the other end of the line, a sound that might be a laugh, but it's cut off quickly. "Then what in Skaia's name are you calling about? If Rose hears me at this hour, she'll have breakfast prepared at four-thirty tomorrow."

"I don't think I can do this anymore," he says, before he realizes he's going to say it, almost before he admits that he's been thinking it. "I'm seriously tempted to just throw in the towel. Get Dave some therapy. Might still be possible to put the kid back on the right track."

For a long moment, he receives no reply besides the quiet sound of Lalonde's breathing. Finally, she says, "You know you can't do that."

"I can't? Why not?" The words come out hot and fast and inelegant, and he's glad Dave's not here to hear them. "It's not healthy for a kid to live this way."

"We did alright."

He laughs. "Sis, I make my living off a puppet porn site. My only friend is a ventriloquist's dummy that freaks _me_ out sometimes. My life is so focused on a kid I found sitting on a dead horse in an impact crater that if you asked me to pick myself out of a photo lineup, I don't think I could do it. How the fuck is that doing alright?"

"Strider." She sighs. "It's only a few more years. You can do it - we can all do it. If anyone has a right to complain, it's Egbert's son - he's caught with a kid he's not really equipped to deal with. Us... we were born to this, after all."

"Were we?" He sighs as well. "Did you really buy all that crap they fed us down in that lab? About light and dark kingdoms, and creative potential, and Betty Crocker as some sort of devil-figure?"

She answers a little too quickly. "Yes, Strider, I did. I trust what Harley and Egbert taught us."

"Really." The single word is harsh, and somehow stands apart from the torrent that follows it. "Egbert couldn't get out of the way of one of her own stupid meteors, and how long has it been since either of us have heard from Harley? Five years, six? Face it, Lalonde, he's dead, somewhere out in his uncharted territory, and the girl's been eaten by that fucking devil beast he always kept around."

"The girl's alive and well. She has been chatting with Rose, under the handle of 'gardenGnostic,' for several months now."

He's silent for a long moment, something that feels remarkably, impossibly like _hope_ catching in his throat. "...you're certain it's her?"

"As soon as I discovered that Rose had made a new contact, I traced her. The signal comes from the coordinates of Harley's last known base of operations. I am reasonably certain it's the light-kingdom girl - I would not allow Rose contact with her if I was not."

Strider realizes suddenly that he has not checked the state of Dave's chumroll in several weeks, and resolves to do so soon.

"Is that all, Strider?" she asks, after a long moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks," he replies. "Thanks for putting up with my bullshit."

"I completely understand," Lalonde assures him, and hangs up.

There are days when he's really not sure he can keep this up, but maybe today won't be one of them.


End file.
